Revelations
by Spense
Summary: This is a sequel to Lightcudder's 'Last Flight Home'. It's probably helpful if you read that first. Revelations are made, in a rather spectacular manner.


_This is a sequel to Lightcudder's 'Last Flight Home'. Although my story would probably stand alone, I wouldn't recommend it. The story 'Last Flight Home' is excellent, and well worth reading. Please read it before you read this one._

**Revelation**

**Sequel to Lightcudder's 'Last Flight Home'**

**by Spense**

Captain Reeves of the yacht, The Tracy Ten, was getting more and more concerned about having letting Mr. Tracy walk the abandoned island alone. Granted, the man had grown up here on the island, but that was long ago. Vegetation in the jungle grew quickly, and it had been many years since Alan Tracy had been here. And a man in his mid 80s wouldn't be moving that fast.

As he walked out to talk to his crew about his concerns, a rumble from the island made him spin. In amazement, he and his crew watched, jaws dropped, as the rumble crescendoed. Hints of cracking wood and rock falls were audible undertones. Dust clouds billowed up from above the jungle, from somewhere off to the east of the island.

Then, as the noise reached it's height, the nose cone of a red rocket emerged slowly from the dust, and became fully visible. The dust dimmed the once bright red paint, but the color was still undeniable, and a large 'TB3' was clearly visible as the rocket cleared the island. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then shot suddenly upward, smoke from it's afterburners burning a comtrail behind it.

The Captian watched with wide eyes until the rocket was out of sight, then turned to his dumbfounded crew. Several of them had cell phones up, clearly taking pictures and videos.

"Was that . . . " One of them breathed.

"Please tell me at least one of you got that?" The Captain demanded.

Stunned nods all around as they took in the fact that they had just been privy to the unveiling of a secret kept for nearly a century.

TB TB TB

The rocket made its way, circumventing the earth, as it was designed. As it could fly both in atmosphere, and in space, it flew low enough for people to see. With the enhanced vision instruments many people had, they could hone in on the spec in the sky, making out the identifying marks.

News companies had live video streaming, and the world seemed to pause, watching the flight of the Thunderbird. The first to be seen in decades.

As the news casts drew people outside, and the unmistakable noise of the rocket brought others around the world to their doors to watch it's passage, the wonder that that been International Rescue was discussed once again.

Grandparents told their children and grandchildren of the organization that had burst on the scene at a time when technology had outstripped humanity's ability to stay out of it's way, and when natural disasters couldn't be detected ahead of time and people were regularly lost. They had come out of nowhere to help, regardless of borders, nationalities, religious affiliation, or any other defining characteristic. They were anonymous, and they pulled off miracles on a regular basis.

The idea of just calling out on the radio waves, or any other communication device to International Rescue, and have them answer was still an unbelievable task. Nobody had ever figured out how they did it, though many had tried.

The technology of their Thunderbirds had been far ahead of it's time, and to this day, had never been duplicated. Eventually, humanity had determined ways to avoid disasters, and the calls to IR became less and less, until nobody could remember the last time they had appeared.

But the organization still lived in legend, and many alive had once been victims, still alive because of the anonymous heroes, and their magnificent machines, who would appear in the time of need, then disappear until once again called upon. They had captured the imagination, and still held it strong to this day. Many had tried to figure out who was behind the amazing organization, but although rumors abounded to this day, nobody ever knew with any certainty.

Now, after decades of absence, Thunderbird 3 was again airborne. And the red rocket was attracting world wide attention as it slowly (for a rocket) circumvented the globe, making the world pause in it's passing.

TB TB TB TB TB

"Captain Reeves," the crisp voice of his passenger sounded over the radio of the Tracy Ten. Even the voice sounded different now. Although a powerful man well into his 80s, much like his father had been, he had appeared frail on the ship, making it easy to underestimate him. Now, though, he sounded crisp, and in command. In his element.

"Yes Sir," the Captain answered, as he would have addressed his commanding officer.

"I would suggest that you get your ship back to, at a minimum, two mile limit from the island." The voice was business like, and practical. Almost surreal coming from a living legend, flying a rocket from out of the past. "My landing will not be quiet."

"I understand," the captain acknowledged, motioning orders to get the ship underway.

The voice on the other end was amused. "I don't think you do, but get back anyway."

"We are underway now, Sir."

"Excellent. Thunderbird 3, Out."

And that was the last transmission heard from the man, or Thunderbird Three. But their passage continued on, as the world stopped and watched.

TB TB TB TB TB

At NorAd Space Control Chaos ensued. It didn't take long to discover that the object that had appeared on their radar was the legendary Thunderbird 3. With the superior tracking of the day, they were able to hone in on it, and get spectacular, close up video. This was the first time a clear, close up view of any Thunderbird was ever seen. And it would be the last.

The age of the red rocket was clear, and the pitting and oxidation of it's once clean and smooth skin was obvious, but it flew straight and true under the skilled hands of it's pilot. The video taken of this flight would later go on to be another iconic image for the world, much like Jefferson Tracy's moon walk, and the flight of the Apollo rockets.

The scientists of NorAd scrambled to find out where it had come from, trying, as always, to locate the secret base. As they, and the world, tracked the flight of the rocket, they marveled once again at the vision of the commander who had had the vision and humanity to envision International Rescue.

After completing it's circuit of the earth, outstripping any known aircraft, and any fighter jets that tried to provide an honor escort (clearly TB3's pilot was having a good time avoiding them, and enjoying himself thoroughly), the rocket suddenly changed direction and launched upwards, onwards, into space. The rocket moved straight up, up, and further up.

Tracking its course, one of the scientists suddenly exclaimed, "It's heading for that piece of space junk!"

And it seemed to be doing just that. Looking ahead of it, and zeroing in on what seemed to be the rocket's destination, they were able to focus on an innocuous piece of space debris, long disregarded as one more abandoned remnant of the space race. With the now amazingly accurate satellites, NorAd was able to focus in on the target of the rocket, and for the first time in human history, the designation TB5 was seen.

The scientists, who had pretty much seen everything, froze in amazement. One of them said wryly, "Well, now we know how they managed their communications."

"But that has to have been there for over 75 years!" Another exclaimed.

Yet another laughed. "And that surprises you, why? Why should anything have been out of International Rescue's reach?"

Then, just as the red Thunderbird reached the space station, and very deliberately clipped it, breaking a large piece off, and sending the old communications site out of its stationary orbit, and crashing to its death in the earth's atmosphere.

World Wide News had tied it's feed into NorAd (with their permission) early on in the rocket's flight, and had been transmitting its passage world wide. The gasp at the deliberate destruction of the previously unknown Thunderbird 5, was global.

Then, in stunned silence, the world watched as the rocket reversed course, and headed, nose downward, back towards earth. With ever increasing speed, humanity watched, mesmerized, as Thunderbird Three, under the clearly deliberate guidance of it's pilot, rocketed back to earth, faster and faster, only to zero straight down on target into a small spec of land in the South Pacific, known as Tracy Island. The resultant explosion wiped the small island completely off the map, and out of existence, taking the now revealed secret base of International Rescue and the miraculous Thunderbirds, with it.

TB TB TB TB TB

Three hours after the world stopped to watch the final flight of the rocket known as Thunderbird 3, and it's destruction of Tracy Island, a news conference was held at the foot of Tracy Towers in New York City. Long rumored to have helped developed the Thunderbird machines, it was now clear that the Tracy family was much more involved than just the development.

Crowds had been streaming towards the site of the conference, held on the steps of the iconic building, since the announcement, half an hour after the destruction of Tracy Island. Huge screens had been set up near the building, the streets closed down by the huge mass of people, and in Central Park. Several stories high, they could be seen by any who cared to watch. The conference would be broadcast globally by World Wide News, and all residents of the earth stopped to watch. It was a viewership record that would never be repeated.

Precisely on time, a middle aged woman walked out of the front doors of Tracy Tower, and stepped to the bank of microphones. An unearthly silence descended, and into that void she spoke.

"Good afternoon. My name is Janelle Tracy-Muroe. I am the granddaughter of Alan Shephard Tracy, president and CEO Emeritis of Tracy Enterprises. I serve as Vice President and director of the Engineering arm of the same organization. I will be speaking for both Tracy Enterprises, and for the Tracy family in this matter.

Today, the world witnessed the final flight of the rocket, Thunderbird 3, from International Rescue, and the destruction of our long time holding, Tracy Island. I am here to confirm that the pilot of Thunderbird 3 today, was my grandfather, Alan Tracy."

There was a gasp, then the unearthly silence returned.

"My grandfather left several video messages, which the family did not receive until after the destruction of the island and the rocket. One was to me. I'm am about to play you part of that recording at the request of my grandfather. He made it clear that his remarks are made on the on behalf of my great-grandfather, the late Jefferson Tracy, Commander of International Rescue, and his sons, the late Scott Tracy, Second in Command and pilot of Thunderbird One, the Late Virgil Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird Two, the late John Tracy, Communications Director, Voice of International Rescue, and operator of the space station, Thunderbird Five, the late Gordon Tracy, pilot of the submersible Thunderbird Four, and himself, the late Alan Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird Three."

The collective gasp and murmur rose at the confirmation of long held secret of the identity of International Rescue. Rumors had long abounded, and the Tracy family had become one of about half a dozen top choices as the years went on. But to find this out for certainty, was monumental event.

"I need to also let you know, that for many of us in the Tracy family, the knowledge of the identity of the International Rescue Operatives was unknown to us as well. Jefferson Tracy, his sons, and many of their children knew, but many did not, and none of the next generations knew. My Grandfather had quite a sense of humor, and now I understand why he was so delighted when I would speculate on the identity of those heroes."

She smiled and paused for a moment, now looking like a person who has just learned a secret which delighted her, instead of the spokesperson for a family that was know as 'American Royalty' and a global corporation.

"I will now let my grandfather speak for himself." She stepped to the side and indicated to one of the large screens next to her.

On the screen, her visage disappeared, only to replaced by that of Alan Shepard Tracy, until earlier that day, the last living son of Jefferson Tracy, and patriarch of the Tracy Family, and Tracy Enterprises. An elderly man, hair gray, and clearly weakening, his blue eyes had lost none of their bright intelligence or mischief. He sat behind a desk in a beautifully appointed office, as he spoke to the camera.

"Janelle, you may share this portion of my message to you with the world, if you wish. I would appreciate it if you felt you could do so." The grin that followed these words was so clearly that of the much younger Alan Tracy, that those who had known him in that time, would have been ducking for cover because some prank or such was sure to follow, usually in collusion with his red-headed brother.

"To answer the questions you've asked me and wondered about for years, yes, my father, my brothers, and I composed International Rescue." Another bright smile crossed the old face, then he turned serious.

"When my mother died in an avalanche while protecting me, my father was heart broken. Needless to say, we never took ski vacations after that, and it's unsurprising that he chose to move us all to a tropical island. Tracy Enterprises was born shortly after that event, both as a means to enable my father to escape his grief, but also as a means to fund his dream. You see, he knew that my mother could have been saved had the technology existed. In the years that followed, his desire to not see another life unnecessarily lost, brought International Rescue to fruition. Tracy Enterprises not only developed the needed technology, but also funded International Rescue. This was one reason why, despite the pressure, neither my father, nor any of the rest of us ever allowed the company to go public. It was, and still is, fully owned by family."

The screen flashed, and a picture appeared in place of Alan Tracy. This picture was of Thunderbird One, and in front of it, Jefferson Tracy stood, arms crossed, legs slightly apart, on the right side of the picture. He was dressed in the familiar flight suit of International Rescue. Sunglasses on against the glare, he was looking over to a group of young men, also in same flight suits, and grinning at them. They five young men were clearly in the act of trying to get posed, and the informal jockeying and shoving for position showed the attitude of closeness and camaraderie between them.

Alan's voice spoke over the picture. "This is my father, me, and my brothers. I'm showing you this picture, because this is what life was like on the island. We may have been part of a highly disciplined, secret organization, but we were still family. And brothers. It was a good time. Now, here is the actual, final picture that was taken."

This time, another version of the same scene was shown. This time, the six men were ramrod straight, and posed seriously in front of Thunderbird One. "We were all business when it came to the rescues."

Alan reappeared on the screen. "It was dangerous, but also satisfying. We saved a lot of lives, and it was a tribute to my father's vision that the world out grew the need for International Rescue."

Resting his arms on the desk and clasping his hands together, Alan leaned forward toward the camera. "I have left several boxes of pictures, mission reports, and other items from that time, to be shared with the world. Janelle, as you have shown the most interest over the years, I leave the curating of these documents and pictures to you. Several are noted with designations as to where they should go. But I wanted you to see one last picture."

The grin reappeared, and the bright blue eyes sparkled. "You and your friends were fascinated with the incident at Covent Gardens in London, many, many years ago. The Thunderbirds appeared, but it was a group of young teens who were flying the machines."

Another picture flashed up on the screen, this time of two boys and a girl with Asian features, dirty and ragged, but all smiles, in front of a filthy and scraped TB 2. "This is a picture of the kids who were involved. It was all of our first mission. I was 14, TinTin, later my wife, was 15, and Fermat Hackenbacker, son of the professor who helped Dad develop the 'birds, was 12. We were those kids."

The picture disappeared, and Alan reappeared, looking serious. "Now you know. And now the world knows. And because you are seeing this, I have completed the work of destroying the Thunderbirds, the island, and myself. And, realistically, probably took Three for one more joy ride. I never could resist that rocket."

He smiled again, more gently this time. "The technology is still far too advanced for the world to handle. We all kept hoping to see a time where it would be viewed as the miracle it was, and not as a weapon. But, as a people, we are still too quick to embrace warfare. My father and brothers had all agreed that it would never been used for gain or for conflict. So, now, as the last remaining of that generation, I've decided to take it with me, as well as our base."

He turned serious. "It was our privilege to share with the world, International Rescue. We hope that the vision will continue to live on, and that people will always step up to help one another. So on behalf of my father, my brothers, and myself, for one last time, the 'Thunderbirds are go!'"

And with that, the screen went dark.

There was a moment of reverent silence, then applause, which continued to grow in volume and intensity for long moments.

With that, the screen went dark, and Janelle's image reappeared. She stood quietly, waiting until the applause died down.

"So as my grandfather has said, now we know. He left a treasure trove of pictures, reports, and videos. I will be putting together a travelling exhibit to go round the world, as well as a permanent display that will be housed in a wing of Tracy Towers, and will be open to the public. Hopefully this tribute to these extraordinary men will help the vision of International Rescue live on."

And with that, she stepped back and exited once again with Tracy Tower, to a storm of applause, echoed around the world that continued to grow, as the world honored the late operatives of International Rescue.


End file.
